


The Last Train to East City

by FlyinBanachab



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 16:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21284807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyinBanachab/pseuds/FlyinBanachab
Summary: Roy Mustang makes a better soldier than a counselor.
Relationships: Gracia Hughes/Maes Hughes, Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	The Last Train to East City

Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang had just barely fallen asleep when someone knocked on his door, sharply, several times. And then several more times. And then it descended into incessant banging. He groaned and rolled out of bed, pulling on his robe and gloves as he stumbled out of the room. Turning on the hall light and opening the door a crack, he squinted at the silhouette facing him–

“Hughes?? How did you get-- what are you doing– wait, what the hell happened to you?” He said as he flung open the door and ushered the man inside. Hughes was a mess: uniform rumpled and dirty, dark circles under puffy eyes, hair greasy and hanging haphazardly in his face. The major stumbled inside and collapsed on the first chair he found, which happened to be in the kitchen. He buried his face in his hands, knocking his glasses off. They clattered onto the wooden table in a way guaranteed to scratch up the lenses. Hughes started to cry. His shoulders shook with the force of it. Roy took off his gloves and stood uncertainly across from him.

“It’s over–” Hughes finally choked out– “It’s all over, Roy, I fucked up and I’ve lost everything, what am I going to do??”

“Take a breath, man,” Mustang said sternly. “Are you drunk?”

“N-no, stone sober, I swear on my daughter’s life. Ohhhhh Eliciaaa…” Mustang didn’t really have a script for grown men sobbing and howling in his kitchen, in the middle of the night, so he went to the cabinet and poured two glasses of bourbon. He set one down in front of Hughes, harder than he meant to, and the liquid sloshed over the edge onto his hand. He shook it off annoyedly. Hughes, startled into momentary silence, looked up through his fingers.

“Ok, then," Mustang said, "you’re going to _get_ drunk and tell me what the hell you’re crying about.”

Hughes’ weepy expression of despair turned into a weepy expression of gratitude.

“Don’t you fucking hug me,” Mustang said, taking a large step back. “Don’t you dare. Just. Tell me. What’s wrong.”

Hughes knocked back the whole glass and took a deep, shuddering breath. “She’s leaving me, Roy. She took Elicia and went to her mother’s.”

Mustang's eyes went wide and he dropped into the chair across from him. “What?”

Hughes took the tumbler out of Roy’s hand and drained it, too, in one gulp. “She said– she said it was too much, too scary, now that we have a child. She said she– that every day when I leave she wonders if it’s the last time she’ll see me. So she said, quit or I’m leaving. And I said, I said I can’t quit, not yet–” and he broke down again.

Mustang sighed, getting up to retrieve the bourbon bottle. “Everything about this is stupid,” he declared, refilling the glasses. Hughes took the bottle.

“Don’t you talk about my wife that way!”

“I’m talking about you, idiot,” Mustang said. “You. Gracia asked you to choose between her and your job and you chose your job?? How is that even possible? Why are you halfway across the country talking to ME right now? What are you thinking?”

Hughes shook his head hopelessly. “Come off it. You know exactly what I’m thinking. That this country’s in trouble. That we’ve seen the rot and we have a responsibility to rip it out before the whole thing collapses. I can’t just walk away from that. I can’t leave you to do it on your own. It's too much. Even if it–-” his voice caught– “even if it costs me–- even if-- we have to stop it, Roy. How could I possibly make the selfish choice and still be able to look my daughter in the eyes? Maybe I’ll–- maybe it means I'll never see her again, but when she gets older she’ll understand. But-- but...” he trailed off, staring at the bottle in his hands.

Mustang stared down at his own glass, thinking. Hughes was right: Mustang couldn't do this without him. And yet he didn't want to ask this of him. He couldn't. Wasn't he supposed to protect his people? Wasn't that the whole damn mission? He pictured Gracia and Elicia. Thought about equivalent exchange. And finally, he said quietly, “I'm not letting you off the hook here. I do need you. And she knows that too. She knows you can't make the selfish choice, and she loves that about you. But she has a point. She needs you too. What if–” and now he made an effort to meet the other man’s puffy, bloodshot eyes– “what if you transfer? Get off the field. Behind a desk. Somewhere safer.”

Hughes sat up a little straighter as he thought about this. “Intelligence. Legal, maybe. Yeah. Yeah!” He pounded a fist on the table and put his glasses back on. They glinted in the lamplight as he spoke. “I’m sure Douglas would approve SOMETHING. I’ll be in a better position on the inside anyway. It’s not perfect but it’s– yes, this will totally work! Roy, you’re a genius!” he said, standing up so abruptly the chair tipped over behind him.

“What did I say about hugging–” but the major had him in a suffocating embrace, lifted partway out of his seat. Mustang struggled to his feet and awkwardly patted him on the back. After an entirely too-long moment of grateful exclamations, Hughes released him and turned toward the door.

“Daddy’s coming home, Elicia!” He yelled, striding quickly toward the door.

“WAIT, IDIOT,” Mustang commanded. The tone caused Hughes to halt and look back over his shoulder, peeved. “The trains don't start running again for another three hours. Just, sleep on the couch or something till then.”

Hughes’ shoulders sagged. “That’s three more hours Gracia will have to go thinking I don’t love her. I can't have that. Can I use your phone??”

“Only if I can’t hear you,” Mustang groused, pointing toward the telephone alcove. They both knew Gracia would be waiting for this call, both knew it was the best option they could give her, and that she would accept it, because sometimes that's all you can do. Mustang opened his closet, finding his spare sheets and throwing them onto the couch. “I’m going back to bed. Goodnight, Hughes.”

Hughes, already midway through dialing, paused to give him a sincere smile. “Goodnight, Roy.”


End file.
